


Break It In

by minkybookworm



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Other, Physical Abuse, Reader is gender neutral, but nothing too explicit, could be considered noncon, gender neutral reader, just bc it is a toxic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkybookworm/pseuds/minkybookworm
Summary: "If you plunge a frog into boiling water, it will immediately jump out. But if you place the frog into cool water and slowly heat it to boiling, the frog won't notice and will slowly cook to death."AKA Strade goes on a date with the reader, slowly showing his true colors, until they're trapped.





	Break It In

**Author's Note:**

> This is an absolutely dark story, swear I'm not a bad person. I've never written anything this dark, but I couldn't get this out of my head.
> 
> TW for abuse tactics

Looking back, there were obvious signs. You should've seen them. You wished that you saw them, because there were so many.

You guys play wrestled, and he got a little _too_  into it. You would talk to much to someone, and he would be  _too_ jealous. Sometimes he'd try to fight the guy. When you guys were watching a gore scene, he'd grin  _too_ widely. The first time you had a fight, he exploded on you, throwing things around the room and slamming his fist on the table. When you cried, he grabbed your arms tightly, before pushing you against a wall and screaming at you. 

But you didn't see those as a big deal, as a deal breaker.

He just got mad sometimes. 

So he has a few quirks.   
  
No one is perfect.

You just realized too late that his imperfections made him dangerous. Deadly. Vicious. Hazardous. Murderous. Fatal. 

It was just too late. 

* * *

It was the way that he smiled at you that caught your eye. He was definitely handsome, but his smile is what made you do a double take. Did that double take sentence you to this? It was warm and friendly.

Then he just... kept moving closer to you. Kept scooting closer and closer to you. You were imagining his hand gliding over your thigh, so much you could practically feel i-

 _Oh_  
  
He squeezed your thigh, rubbing it gently.

You weren't imagining it. 

You didn't want to admit how much heat had traveled between your legs. Or how lightheaded you felt. 

Then he bit his lip, dragging it out, and his eyes went up and down your body. 

_You were done for._

You were about to ask him to get out of here, to take care of the heat between your legs, to feel him around you, to just-

He looked away from you, glancing to the man leaving the bar. "Sorry, liebling," he said, "But I really need to talk to that guy,"  

"I didn't even notice him," you muttered. 

He laughed and pushed a napkin towards you. "Write your number, and I promise I'll call," 

You scribbled your number on it before sliding the napkin back to him. He shot you that big bright smile again. "Until then," he said before pressing his mouth against yours. Your breath hitched in your throat, and his hand cupped your jaw harshly. He bit on your lip before pulling away, following the man out of the bar.

You touched the lip he bit. He came really close to breaking the skin (you wished that you screamed at yourself to run away, to decline his call that would come a day later).  

Instead, you answered his call with a big smile and made plans for the next night, excited. 

He picked you up in his car, and your eyes dropped to the empty spot on his door. "Where's the handle?" you asked. 

Strade looked at you, and for a moment you saw something dark, you didn't know what, then he smiled at you. "I bought it used, don't know what the guy needed it for," (Now you know what that emotion was, you see it almost every day). 

The date went amazing, and you were only more done for. He asked you questions. He complimented you. He joked around. He gave you that  _damn_ smile. He gave you butterflies; how did he give you butterflies?

You didn't just want a one night stand anymore. But you also didn't fight him when he kissed you roughly, cupping and groping you wherever he could reach. His teeth clashed against yours, and he pushed you against his car. Strade pushed his mouth up against your throat, biting and leaving deep marks that you figured would be there for days. 

Your mind was clouded, only lucid enough to let out moans and whispering his name. He reached behind you and puled on the handle, opening the door. "Strade," you moaned, the both of you climbing into the backseat. 

It  _(he)_ felt great, and you smiled even bigger when he called you the next day (Maybe you should have waited until the next date, should have told him to wait. But knowing him now, you doubt it would have done you any good). 

* * *

You were close with one of your coworkers. You and him would joke around during your lunch break, and he kept you from going off on your boss when you got pissed, because you really needed your job.

After a month into the relationship, Strade called and said that he would pick you up when you got off shift. That had been a particularly rough day, so you had been excited to see your boyfriend. You just wanted to be with Strade. He had always calmed you down ( _not so much anymore)._  

He text you when he pulled you up in front of the building. You said goodbye and rushed out to his car. Strade smiled when he saw you, before his smile faltered and someone grabbed your wrist. 

When you turned around, you saw your coworker holding out your bag. "You forgot this?" He laughed. 

You rolled your eyes and laughed. "Thanks," you said, grabbing it from him. Before either of you could say anything, your arm was pulled back, and you winced as you faced Strade. His grip on you was tight, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from wincing. "St-Strade?"   
You rolled your eyes and laughed. "Thanks," you said, grabbing it from him.

"I suggest you keep your hands off of my-"

"Strade."  

"Because I swear to god, I will end you-"

You pushed him away and yelled,  "Strade!" He clenched his jaw and stared at you. He had that wild look in his eyes, as if he'd hurt anyone. You turned to your friend. "I'm really sorry," 

  
He shook his head. "It's fine. You can't control your boyfriend,"

  
"Thanks," you said, before you glared at Strade. You heard your friend go back to work. "What the hell was that?"

  
"He touched you!"

  
"He was giving me my bag! I forgot it inside," you yelled, "He wasn't making a move on me,"

  
Strade crossed his arms, and you tried your best to hold your ground, to not let your body shudder in fear. This couldn't happen. You weren't scared of your boyfriend. You couldn't be scared of your boyfriend (now you were, isn't it _funny_ how things change?).

  
He sighed and stepped closer to you. Strade grabbed your hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry liebling,"

  
"You can't do that whenever you get jealous,"

  
He just nodded and pulled you into a hug. Your breath hitched from the pressure, and he gave you a huge smile when he pulled away.

  
(A few weeks later, your friend went missing. And Strade comforted you when you sobbed in his arms, telling you that your friend would be alright, that they'd find him.)

  
(You never found out that he was in the basement, a floor down, bloody, power tools put through him, covered in who knows what else, gagged. After a few days, he was gone.)

* * *

  
It wasn't a big deal. Strade did this often when you guys watched TV actually. He was the type to get distracted, usually with you.

  
So you weren't surprised when you felt one of his hands travel under your shirt, while rubbed over your thigh. Strade was watching your face. He always did.

  
Strade bit your neck, and you whimpered when you felt a trickle of blood. _That was normal._ He got too rough sometimes. His hands swept to your pants. You yelped when he frantically pulled them off of you, your underwear following them away right after. You pulled your shirt off as he pushed you deeper into the couch.

  
You briefly noticed him messing with his zipper, before you felt him inside of you. He grunted and sped up immediately, making some pain sting, but mostly pleasure. But that was _normal_ too. He just got too excited sometimes; he just likes it rough, that's not a crime. The entire time you let out moans (sometimes yelps that could be mistaken as screams); you remember when you used to try to be more quiet, but you know he likes it better when you're louder. He's staring at you with _those_ eyes and a flushed face. A small part of you got scared at that look; another part of you felt nice, knowing that he focused on you like that. _That was normal too._

  
You're close. You can feel it traveling up you, just a few more and then your back will arch up, your toes will curl, and then y-

  
A hand's clamped around throat.

  
This _isn't_ normal.

  
You gasp and reach up to the hand around you. Strade only moves faster against you. His face gets redder. He whimpers your name more. You wheeze as his pace falters, and you know he's near as black dots appear in the edges of your vision. You clap your hands against his, and you leave small scratch marks on him. "Fight harder."

  
_No._

You didn't hear that right. He wouldn't say that (even though he did).

  
You cry out his name, begging him to just let go. His eyes widen, along with a smile. That's when you feel him freeze inside of you before cumming. You gasp when he lets go, his head falling against your shoulder.

  
You try to ignore your lungs burning. Or the ache in your throat. Or the fear that just erupted over you from him.

  
He raises his head up from you. He isn't as excited as a few minutes ago, but you swear you've never seen him be that happier after sex. You don't think he's ever looked at you like that before. "That was amazing," he panted.

  
"Yeah," you whimper, "It was,"

  
It did feel good, but not in the amazing way it was for him. He nods absentmindedly and runs his fingers over the bruises already forming.

  
_This wasn't normal._

  
But you know it's going to become your new normal.

  
Even though you question whether or not you'l die every time.

* * *

  
You had been furious a while ago, but now you forgot what you had been fighting about. All of the sudden, Strade had begun screaming at you, so loud that your mind had given up trying to comprehend the words.

  
His eyes were wide and furious. Strade began grabbing things and throwing them around the room. The glass from the picture frames shattered onto the ground when he threw them (you lied and said that he didn't throw them at you). He knocked the chairs over as he stomped his way over to you.

  
"Strade," you whimpered with a shaking voice, "Please just calm dow-"

  
Your back slammed against the wall as he cornered you. The glass crunched under his boots as he glared at you. "You. Stupid. Bitch!" he screamed, slamming his heads against the wall again.

  
"I'm sorry!" you yelled.

  
Before you could continue, his hand slapped against your cheek. His knuckles hitting against your cheekbone. You panted as you raised a hand against where he hit you. You tried to walk past him, to escape from where he was cornering you, but he pushed on your shoulder and threw you to the ground.

  
You landed on your hand and winced at the cuts. "St-Strade." You looked up at him, and your gut dropped when you saw his wide smile (you should have ran).  
He grabbed you, dragging you up. You yelped before he slammed you against the wall and pressing his mouth against yours. You tried to push him away, but he grabbed your hand, pressing into the cuts, making the blood spread across your palm.

  
"Strade I-"

  
"Don't say anything," he said, and you knew you shouldn't question it. He smashed his mouth against yours again, biting your lip until the taste of blood stung your mouth.

  
You kissed back and put your other hand on his chest as he pressed you harder against the wall. Strade pressed himself against you, rubbing himself on your leg. You went ahead with him when he turned you around, pressing your face against the wall, while his hands traveled down to the waistband of your pants (you should have ran).

* * *

  
You don't know when you technically moved in. For a while, you just stayed over at his house because he's "clingy" (isolating you). He would get mad when you left, so you started staying over for longer and longer periods of time. It went from a few days, to a few weeks, to almost a full month.

  
One day, he came with a few boxes, and when you looked in, you saw the stuff from your apartment. "You're practically my roommate! What's the big deal?" he said with that huge, cheerful smile of his.

  
You tried not to feel nervous and smiled back at him. "Is this your way of asking me to move in with you?"

  
"Sure," he said (You both knew he wasn't asking). He began unpacking the boxes. "Let's move this in!"

  
Looking back, you're not really sure how you avoided seeing Ren for so long, maybe Strade gave him extra rules whenever you came over. That seems possible.

  
You had been living with Strade for two days before you met Ren. Strade had left for something, you forgot what, and you heard something move in one of the other rooms. You went in there to see what it was, and saw him.

  
You stared at his metal collar frozen for a few moments, before they traveled over to the scars covering his body. You shifted over to the fox ears on his head, but it felt rude to stare. "Who are you?"

His hands were shaking, and he panted. "I-I'm Ren,"

  
"I'm Y/N," you said, trying to keep a calm voice, "Why are you here?"

  
"I live here."

  
You furrowed your eyebrows. "You need to leave,"

  
"N-No!" He screamed, and you flinched. His eyes started watering. "You don't know. I'll die if I leave, please!"

  
You couldn't help but pity him. You didn't know him, but you wanted to protect him. You stepped closer to Ren and gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay, okay. Let's just stay calm okay."

  
He nodded his head. "I don't want to hurt you,"

  
"I know," you said, "I don't want to hurt you either,"

  
Ren visibly relaxed, and that's when you noticed just how tense he had been before. Before you could say anything, the front door opened, and Strade slammed it shut as he walked in, making Ren flinch. You stepped away from him and turned towards Strade who was heading into the kitchen.

  
His eyes switched over to you then over your shoulder at Ren before glaring. "So you two met,"

  
Before you could say anything, he said, "Y/n, I need to talk to you in private,"

  
"Why is Ren here? Who is he?" you asked when you both walked into the kitchen.

  
"He's... family," Strade explained, "He's not exactly right in the head, so I have to take care of him,"

  
"What's with the collar?"

  
"It's the only way I could keep him from leaving when I left," Strade sighed, "It doesn't actually do anything, but he thinks that it'll kill him if he leaves,"

  
You glanced back at him. "Isn't that a cruel way to keep him here?"

  
"He can't handle it out there." Strade frowned and grabbed your hand. "I should have told you sooner, but the last person that was here couldn't handle Ren and I-"

  
"It's fine," you said with a smile, "I get it,"

  
You stayed with Strade and tried to help the best you could with Ren. Ren seemed to appreciate it, and he warmed up to you (you were one of the first nonviolent people he met in who knows how long). You thought that you were helping Ren, and you liked it

(You didn't know that the best way you could help Ren was by leaving Strade and driving to the police. If you knew that, that probably would've been the thing that made you finally leave Strade). You didn't pay attention to the way Ren would flinch when Strade spoke, or how he would tense up whenever Strade was near him. You should have questioned Strade more when you asked him about those scars (you should have paid attention to that).

* * *

  
You're not sure what triggered it. All you know is that one day, Strade came up from the basement with an annoyed look on his face, while you were watching TV in the living room.

  
Then you were pushed so that you lying down, with him straddling you from above, with a pocket knife in his hand. Before you could say his name or ask what was happening, he pulled your shirt up, just enough to show your stomach, before pressing the knife into your skin.

  
You hissed at the contact, crying and begging him to stop, but he continued cutting patterns into you. Every time the knife came back down, he made it go deeper and deeper inside of you. The cuts traveling from your waist up to the top of your stomach. It felt like forever when he let the knife drop to the floor. You sighed, thinking that it was over, before he ran his hands along the cuts.

  
His smile spread across his entire face, while his eyes stared at you wildly as he spread the blood across your torso. Strade reached into one of the cuts, digging his fingernail in a little bit, scratching the wound.

  
"Str-Strade please stop! Please!" you sobbed. He continued, the only indication that he heard you was the slight growth in his smile. You could feel him hard against your thigh and groaned at the thought of what was probably going to happen next.

  
But instead he pulled his hands back and sent you a (not at all comforting) sympathetic smile. "I'll clean those up for you,"

  
You laid frozen on the couch, too much in shock to do anything else (you wish that you bolted that second). He came back a moment later with supplies to clean the wounds. The only sounds you made were hisses when he pressed the alcohol and bandages against them.

  
Strade smiled at you when he was done, putting his hand on your cheek, and rubbing it with his thumb. "I didn't mean to hurt you (what did he mean to do then?) I just had a really rough day at work, my partner wasn't cooperating (You later realized that that meant that the person died too early),"

  
"I-It's okay," you cried, trying to ignore the throbbing that went through all of your stomach (Why the hell did you saw it was okay?!? Why didn't you just leave?)

  
He smiled at you again, looking back you realize that he knew you would be okay with it, before he gave you a chaste kiss.

  
When you went to change later, to get out of a blood soaked shirt, he saw your bandages (they were already bleeding through) again, and that's when he kissed your neck hotly and dragged you to the bed.

* * *

  
It was the middle of the day.

  
He was supposed to do this at night.

When you were half-awake, that was when you could tell yourself that it wasn't someone screaming from the basement.

  
Right now you were wide awake, and that was definitely someone screaming and begging him to stop. Your mind flashed back to the last week. That week, he had been hitting you more than usual (and you had a lot more scars from his knife on your body now). You had wondered why he was so bright and happy this morning, and the person in your basement was why. You guessed he found them last night, and he had found an easier way to take that violence out.

  
You had used those exact same words when he hit you.

  
Strade stomped up the stairs, and you flinched when the door hit the wall as he opened it. He smiled at you with fanatic eyes. "Come in here,"

  
"W-What?" you asked with a trembling voice. He had never asked you to go down there; hell, he practically forbid you to ever go down there.

  
"Come. Down. Here," he repeated with a clenched jaw. You let out a deep breath while you tensed up, before following him. His hand touched your lower back as he led you down the stairs.

  
You let out a choked sob when you saw the women tied up against the pole. She had a large cut on the side of her face, along with huge ones on her legs. Nails had been embedded into her thighs. And you tried your best to not focus on the fact that her shorts had been thrown across the room, and that there was blood on her inner thighs (blood that had definitely not come from a cut).

  
"Please! Please help me!" she wailed, trying to move as close to her as her tied wrists would let her.

  
You tried to back away, only to fall back onto Strade. He grabbed your arms and squeezed them, in a way that would be gentle in any other scenario. He grabbed something from the table behind him, and you whimpered when he pressed a hammer into your hand. 

  
"Beat her head in."

  
"No! No! _No! No!_ " you yelled, your voice raising with every word, "I can't do this! I can handle the rest, but not this! Strade please! Please don't make me do thi-"

  
He grabbed your hair, pulling it back until the only thing you could focus on was the ceiling. "You know what I'll do if you don't."

  
You cried, "Please,"

  
He shoved the hammer back into your hand. "Beat! Her! Head! In!"

  
The woman began screaming. Her legs flailed as she tried to distance herself form the two of you, only for her legs to slide against the floor uselessly. She begged you to not do it. That she had a family. That she wanted to live.

  
Slowly, you stepped closer to her. Once you were in front of her, you raised the hammer above your head. "I'll try to make this as fast as possible," you whispered, and she screamed when you brought the hammer down.

  
It collided with her skull, and the vibrations shook your arms. You choked back sobs as you repeated it, slowly hearing her skull crush and hitting brain matter. You did it as many times as you could, cringing at the sound of breaking bones and squishy brain material.

  
After what felt like hours, she stopped moving. You threw the hammer away from you and stepped back. There were pieces of her brain on your blood-soaked hands.

  
Strade wrapped his arms from behind you. "That was so hot babe," he whispered. You felt the hot air against your ear as he panted.

  
After a few minutes, he lead you back up to your bedroom, and you sat on the bed as he grabbed clothes from your closet. "I love you," you whispered when he came back.

  
He smiled at you. "I love you too," he said before kissing you.

  
You had to trust him, otherwise you'd lose trust in all people. You _had_ to believe that he wasn't truly a bad person. That he wasn't  _only_ evil. 

  
(You just wish that you saw those signs earlier, so you didn't have to trust him)

* * *

  
He's not sure what attracted him to you at the bar that first night. Usually, he went towards the quiet ones, the ones that no one noticed, and there was one of those people sitting in the corner of the bar.

  
That wasn't you. You were smiling brightly and talking to the bartender casually whenever he handed you a drink. Instead of going to the target, he went towards you. 

  
Strade sat next to you with a smile and bought you a drink. He didn't smile at you the same way he smiled at his targets.

  
He briefly imagined dragging you into the basement, and tearing you apart while you screamed, piece by piece. He imagined you sobbing and begging him to stop.

  
But that wasn't satisfying in the same way. He imagined that person from the corner doing the same, and he had to say that sounded like a lot more... _fun_. But he still stayed with you.

  
He flirted with you, teased you. And that felt great, in a different way.  
So he took your number and followed the man out, because you may give him a new pleasure, but he still had an itch that this man could scratch.

  
He spent the next few days just thinking about you. At night, he imagined touching you, you tangling your legs and wrapping them around him..  
After a particularly rough night, he called you and set up the date.

  
During the date, you sent him that same cheerful smile. It was like the one that he gave people, except he believed that yours was genuine. It was when you guys stumbled into his car, and he had you right beneath him that he realized what he wanted to do with you, _to_ you.

  
He didn't want to break that little smile. To cut it. To tear it away until it was literally impossible for you to ever truly smile again.

  
_Nooooo_.

  
He wasn't gonna break you.

  
He wanted you to smile in the _'This is the first happiness I've felt in months'_ way, before he ripped that happiness away from you.

  
As Strade watched you under him, he knew exactly what he was going to do.  
You weren't a piece of glass, waiting to be shattered. You were like a shoe, just waiting to adjust to him. To change for him.

  
He wanted to see that smile to get harder for you to make up. He wanted that smile to try to remain bright, but get duller over time. He wanted that smile to try to survive, but flinch when he was around. To see you genuinely smile, but not in the same way, not in the _'I believe and trust people'_ way.

  
His last few thoughts ran in his head as he finally came, and you let out a loud moan.

  
He wasn't gonna break you.

  
He was gonna _break you in_.

 


End file.
